I wasn’t ever a social child. I know you are simply shocked at this revelation. I used to go to day camp but every year I would head off to one camp but always felt like I missed out on the "classic" camp experience. Mostly as seen in DCOMs (Disney Channel Original Movies, what’s up Ryan Merriman how’s the SMART HOUSE? Luck of the Irish still paying off?) and other teen movies.
In 1999, I decided to attend a sleep away camp. It was associated with a high school in Pacific Palisades so I figure that’s pretty legit. It was an "adventure" camp, meaning that each week you would pick a theme such as watersports (Ray J, HAND DOWN).
For the first week, I chose Scuba Certification. I thought, hey that's some James Bond shit right there.
I arrive at the pick up location, my parents wave me goodbye and I get into a van and off into the horizon...
One hour later, I find myself in a trailer park in Valencia. (yes, the home of Six Flags)
The tents and cots were all army surplus. I snagged one that had springs! (nevermind that one corner of the springs were detached and that I would slowly sink into that hole through the night.)
In the whole camp there were 50 kids per "program." For the first week, I selected to train to be scuba certified. I am going to break this into two separate sagas as each really had a different "vibe" to it. (Spoiler alert: one vibe is "sexual harassment")
Scuba Camp
So I show up with all my enthusiasm to experience what I kept seeing in movies (I realize later that my expectations based on previous film viewing is what makes me basically The Cable Guy). Aside from the less than posh digs, the camp was alright. We did classroom and in pool training. Almost had an international incident because there was a group of French campers that we had to share the shower facilities with. I very clearly heard them say repeatedly something to the tune of “the American pigs can go fuck themselves” so I gently urged the councilors and campers to avoid them. It is this reason that I own a plaque with a scuba diver etched onto it with the words “Most Likely to Become a French Citizen” on it.
I did develop a crush on a fellow camper named Luke. The climax of that relationship was when one night, we were lying on top of picnic benches watching the stars. Overhead, I see a shooting star and point it out to him. He pauses. Then he says “Sorry, I farted” then proceeds to go into detail about why white swimsuits are the best kind. I really should have taken this as some sort of sign of things to come.
We finish our pool training and it’s time to head out into the ocean for the final hours to get the certification. We head to Catalina.
First issue, they accidentally took all the luggage to the camping site instead of straight to the docs where we had to dive that day in order to get the correct amount of hours. We were given a choice.
a) You could dive in your underwear and camp provided wetsuit.
b) You could dive in just the camp provided wetsuit.
c) Or you could not be certified.
Obviously “I don’t know where that’s been” was my guiding philosophy and I went in my skivvs. Most of the rest of the campers (10 girls, 40 boys approx.) decided with a resounding “FREEBALL.”
It should also be mentioned that said wetsuits were basically one size fits all and the way they would ensure the suit would “fit all” was to line the inside with Palmolive and just shake you in there.
Here’s a little something I learned.
Poorly fiting wetsuit + dish soap + salt water = full body rash.
Oh, sweet hindsight. Those freeballers never had a chance. I made it out alive and with my swimsuit region (then and now, thankyouverymuch) rash free.
This was also the first event that marked me being objectively cool (aka slow mo hallway walk to Imperial Teen’s Yoo Hoo…for reference see the seminal film, Jawbreaker, which you should do anyways).
There was one moment where I figured it out. It was the dinner after the fateful “freeball dive” and I was walking to my table where I was going to sit with a new object of my affection, Matt when the “cool table” asked me to join. More than that they were voicing their surprise that I would sit anywhere else. I, in typical Erin fashion, sat with the nerdy crush kid.
Once I sat, he looked at me and said “I can recite Green Eggs and Ham by memory.” Then proved it.
Choice well made, Erin.
Intermission!
Aka the weekend optional trip I should have opted out of.
Long story short (yes, we all know it’s too late for that) I spent the whole weekend with my hood up trying to ignore the fact that the 6 male campers and 2 male councilors were just sizing up the “talent.” A charming weekend but it was also the one where I convinced a group of teens to see an IMAX Shark movie instead of American Pie. (Not just because of the awesomeness of sharks but I ultimately felt that American Pie would be inappropriate. For your reference, I was called Alex P. Keaton by my mother throughout adolescence.)
I, having already been through so much, had to face the next day knowing that there was a week of non-refundable camp fun ahead of me….
The saga continues…
